in the lines
by cadre
Summary: a break in the hectic fighting of a tyranid swarm sees a veteran guardsman squad discussing the action with a rookie new recruit


IN THE LINES

The soldier with the young face wrapped his standard guard issued wet weather cloak. A helmet lay beside him discarded forgotten. He shivered against the cold and the wet rain that fell upon them a constant patter fall, he was sat on a box yet up to his ankles in swift running mud and water of the trench. There was no wind yet still that air had a severe touch of cold to it. Their was a stench in the atmosphere that left a foul taste in the back of the throat. The soldier wrapped himself tighter and shivered. A noise made him look to his left. A man his face stubbled from days with no access to a razor, heaved the body of a hormagaut over the edge of the trench. The mud squelched as the body impacted. Holes we're burnt into the purple and cream armoured flesh of the creature and one of the fore claws was ripped off. The aliens face was frozen in a vile sneer teeth glinting and running with rain water. The soldier with the young face shuddered.

Catching the movement the man turned his sergeant stripes almost shining against the brown of his fatigues and green flack. The sleeves had been ripped off showing the tattooed Imperial eagle on one arm. Around his waist was buckled not the standard laspistol but its more powerful counterpart the hell pistol smaller variant of the hellgun commonly carried by storm troopers. His hand to hand weapon was a scimitar power sword again not the regular issue chainsword given to squad leaders. A lasgun was strapped across his back. The sergeant and the soldier locked eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Bethran." Was the reply. Then a hastily added "Sir."

The sergeant grinned. Around him nine other troopers all looking as rough as their squad leader continued to heap the bodies of the Tyranids out of the trench. Imperial bodies all wearing the same brown and green uniforms lay torn and shredded arms and legs ripped off my powerful claws and teeth. Some bore expressions of great agony due to the living nature of Tyranid bio-weaponry and their living ammo. Those that still had their faces anyway

"You going to help boy?" One of the soldiers sneered a tall man almost whip thin, with sharp pointed features. "There's work to be done."

"Leave him alone Del." The sergeant snapped. "Take five lads."

"Sir." Was the communal response. The nine men all removed helmets and sat were they were irrespective of what they sat on, boxes, mud ammo crate dead 'Nids or dead guardsmen. The man named Del reached into one of his hip pockets and pulled out a small metal box and removed a Lho stick. He tossed the box to his sergeant who took one and offered to the box to Bethran who shook his head. The box was thrown throughout the squad, six took one of the smokes. Lighting the narcotic the sergeant inhaled deep and looked at the young soldier through a haze of smoke.

"Your first action?" He asked.

"Yes sir. I only came out of basic training a month ago."

"Is it all you hoped for?" Another trooper laughed once, an almost animal like bark.

"It's different to what they said it would be."

The sergeant raised an eyebrow.

"Only different? Where's the rest of your squad?"

"A lot scarier. My squad was killed in the first engagement. The xenos descriptions in the uplifting primer….."

Bethran was cut off by the entire squad bursting into sarcastic laughter.

"They still handing out that crap?" The sergeant snorted.

"But sir, the primer is what keeps us alive."

"Really?" The sergeant asked sarcastically.

"Urm Sergeant….."

"Dorn."

"Sergeant Dorn, the Imperial Guard uplifting primer gives information on xenos species namely Ork, Eldar and……."

"Tyranid." Dorn replied. "I've read it. Let me tell you something, I've been in the guard for nine years now and have fought in six major campaigns, three against 'Nids one against Orks and two against the great enemy." All the men made the sign of the Aquilla to ward off evil even Bethran though he kept his hands underneath his cloak when he did it.

"Do you know one thing I learned in my very first battle?"

"Sir?"

"That's its not worth the papyrus its written on."

The guardsman looked shocked.

"Let me tell you. The first time me and my guys saw action was on some stupid dirt ball called Arbour a forest planet. It was against an Ork force that had crash landed and the local PDF as usual couldn't handle it. We got sent in. Oh we were out of boot camp less than six months, all ready to fight for the Emperor. We believed the primer that Orks were stupid, easily tricked, and easily brought down by lasguns. We found out the difference the hard way, when a group of them reached our ranks. I personally shot it three times back when I was a grunt. It still came on and literally ate the head off my sergeant. That was the point when I was covered in my sergeant's blood I realised that the primer was useless."

"Maybe it was a strange type of Ork." Bethran said.

Dorn shook his head.

"I was on Arbour for four months for two of those months we endured trench warfare much like this one stopping wave after wave of those green skinned monsters. Hundreds of us died there. Many of us it was our first action."

Dorn pitched his butt into the mud, rain water fell eagerly down his face his grey eyes haunted with past memories and lies.

"What does your primer say about Tyranids."

"That they have really weak stubby claws that are no match for flak armour."

Dorn nodded and reached down beside him picked up a Hormagaunt fore arm with its claw still attached.

"This is a Tyranid weak and puny claw." Dorn said. Without warning Dorn raised the claw and plunged it into the chest of a dead Guardsman that was slumped against the wall. It went straight through the flak armour. The body jumped and their was a dull wet slapping sound. Yet the flak armour provided almost no resistance.

"And that's at a humans strength. And that's only from the small ones."

"Small ones?"

"Tyranid standard tactics means that the small ones come in first then medium ones and then the big fellas, the real scary ones come along and trust even a Russ's armour won't stop those bastards." Dorn related to Bethran taking small pleasure in telling him in detail about the last two times he and his squad had gone up against the monsters of the Tyranids. He then spoke at even greater length of his battles against the great enemy. The others also told their stories, the length of time went long past any recommended break allowance. Night fell and some point the rain stopped though none noticed. Star littered the night sky familiar to all those present yet none could pin point their own and which their planet which chances are they would never see again orbited around. The temperature dropped severely yet the veterans didn't seem to mind.

At the end of it Dorn looked right into youthful Bethran's face which had gone white with horror.

"Do you know where most experienced Guardsmen keep their primer?"

"In their hip pouches for easy reaching and prayer."

"No. They keep it here." Dorn patted his breast pocket. "Can you guess why?"

Bethran shook his head.

"Its one extra layer between your heart and the thing that punctures it. It doesn't help much but it works occasionally."

"I can attest to that" Del said. He dumped his last Lho stick butt into the slime.

Dorn reached into his pocket and drew out his primer.

"You want to know what is best for?"

He tore it down the spine into two pieces.

Bethran's jaw dropped in horror.

"Use it to light a fire. Keep you warm at night. It makes good tinder."

"If a commissar catches you without a primer it's a shooting offence. As is defacing it." Bethran said.

Dorn turned to the same dead soldier he had driven the claw through. He rummaged through his hip pouch and took out the mans primer and held it up for Bethran to see.

"I now have my own primer safe and sure. What you think he's going to need it." He jerked his head in the direction of the corpse.

"But the prayers to the Immortal Emperor contained within it?"

"Are in this one to. Somehow I doubt the Emperor is going to condemn me for losing a book. He sees the hell we go through in defence of his empire. I know he will understand."

"Your arrogance is amazing sergeant." Bethran said.

Dorn looked at his squad and an almost imperceptible signal past between them.

Bethran rose and swept his cape aside, beneath he wore a long black and red overcoat belted with gold. At one hip a power sword the other a bolt pistol. Raising one hand he placed a cap upon his head.

Commissar Bethran drew his pistol. His youthful face no longer had any trace of innocence, it was cold and hard like marble.

"Sergeant Dorn, under the regulations and powers of the Commissariat you are charged with the subversion of the Imperiums holy books. Of losing your Imperial primer and of defacing another. You are also charged with looting the bodies of dead loyal subjects of the Emperor. On this I find you guilty. The sentence death." He drew his bolt pistol

There was a distinct set of whines from behind the sound of lasgun safeties being turned off, Bethran half turned. All nine members of the squad had their weapons trained on him.

"Lower your weapons soldiers, do not interfere with the Commissars holy duty."

"I don't think so Commissar." Dorn said his hellpistol trained on Bethran. "By the way the wide eyed rookie soldier, good act." He added.

"You knew?"

"Almost from the beginning."

"How, I've played this part many times before?"

"Your eyes. No amount of training and makeup can hide the experience the eyes will show."

"Lower your weapon sergeant." Bethran snarled.

"And you say my arrogance is amazing." Dorn replied his own eyes dark with the sights of death over the last several years looked right into Bethran's.

Ten weapons fired as one.


End file.
